


Crimson War

by ShaneVansen



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: A/A, Drama, F/M, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-27
Updated: 2010-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-07 14:27:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShaneVansen/pseuds/ShaneVansen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They don't know who they can trust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crimson War

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time I asked for non-Shep/Weir prompts to try to stretch my writing horizons. Irony Rocks gave me "Weir/Lorne on Atlantis."
> 
> Thanks to Hope Tang for the title.
> 
> Originally posted to LJ March 2007.

"Wait here," Lorne hisses at Dr. Weir as he motions her into an alcove. Satisfied that she's heeding his direction – at least for the moment – he moves as quietly as he can to the end of the hall. Readjusting the grip on his weapon, Lorne eases his head around the corner.

The corridor is clear in both directions, so Lorne waves Weir forward. His gaze darts back and forth between the hallway and her progress until she's standing next to him, and although she looks as calm as ever he can see the tension in the way she holds herself. He's spent enough time with her over the years during crises to know when she's under pressure.

"You ready?" he whispers, taking stock of the way her fingers tighten on her weapon.

"Ready," she assures him softly, and Lorne double-checks the hallway before moving cautiously around the corner, Weir close behind him. They move quickly, and he's impressed by how quietly she moves; Lorne wouldn't have thought it before today, but she could probably give some of his men a run for their money in silent movement. Given their current situation, it's a definite bonus.

He's startled by Weir's voice; quiet as it is, it seems loud in the otherwise silent corridor. "Where are we going?"

Lorne contemplates not answering, but they seem safe enough for the moment. Instead of responding right away, however, he slows and waits until she nearly walks into him. He opts to lean forward to speak directly in her ear, to minimize the chances of being overheard. "I want to find my team. Williams would have been in the jumper bay when the attack began, so we'll start there." He pulls away slowly, trying not to notice that her hair smells really, really good. And is it his imagination, or did her breath catch when his lips accidentally grazed her ear?

This is hardly the time or place to contemplate such things, though, so he turns back around and continues in the direction of the jumper bay. Weir is close behind, so quiet that he senses more than hears her.

They're almost at the end of the hall when an indistinct sound alerts Lorne; he can't tell what it is, but he knows it's _something_ and that's enough. A quick glance back tells him that they're too far from the junction they'd come from to make it back safely, but a few feet back and on the other side of the hall there is a door. Lorne doesn't know where it leads, but he takes the chance that it's unlocked. Grabbing Weir's hand, he sprints to the door and waves his weaponed hand over the blue crystals. It whooshes open, much to his relief, and he darts inside with Weir on his heels. Once past the threshold he spins to the side, using momentum to bring her around between himself and the wall, pressing himself against her back to cover her in case their hiding place is discovered.

The door slides closed and Lorne can tell Weir is holding her breath. So is he. Outside, two people pass by without even pausing. One very long minute later he sighs in relief.

It's only when Weir stirs against him that Lorne realizes she's still trapped between his body and the wall, and he hastily takes a step back. "Sorry, Dr. Weir," he apologizes, and he's absolutely certain that his face is turning red.

She turns to face him with a slight smile. "It's okay, Evan. And under the circumstances, I think you can call me Elizabeth."

The invitation is sincere but it seems strange to call her that, so Lorne just nods noncommittally. "That sounded like Dr. McKay and Dr. Zelenka," he says instead, changing the subject.

She frowns at him. "You think we need to hide from them?" she asks, sounding worried.

He shrugs. "Better safe than sorry," he tells her. "I know they wouldn't turn against you intentionally, but they may not have a choice." Lorne doesn't want to concern her unnecessarily but she needs to be aware that the enemy could be someone she would normally trust.

They make their way back into the corridor, and Lorne makes them stand utterly still for a full two minutes before he's convinced that McKay and Zelenka aren't waiting around the corner to ambush them. He grasps Weir's – _Elizabeth's_ – hand and gives it a quick squeeze before stepping into the hall.

He doesn't hear the footsteps until it's almost too late. As it is, he spins and shoots at the same time, barely grazing his target's leg; it's not nearly enough to incapacitate the other man. Lorne dives around the corner, but is not quite fast enough. He can't stop the grunt of pain when he's hit in the shoulder.

"Run!" he yells at Elizabeth, who's standing frozen in front of him. He's up just seconds after hitting the floor and herds her towards the transporter around the next corner. She's standing safely inside and he's only half a step behind when he's hit in the back, the force of it throwing him the final distance into the safety of the transporter. The doors close behind him, locking out their attacker.

Elizabeth catches him before he collapses on the floor. "Evan! Where are you hit?" she asks urgently, lowering him to the ground. When she pulls her hands away, he can see that they are bright red.

"I'm done," he groans, letting his head thump heavily to the floor, his eyes sliding shut. After a moment he cracks them open. "I'm sorry, Dr. Weir."

"I thought I told you to call me Elizabeth," she reprimands. Her hand touches just below his injured shoulder. "Who shot you?"

"It was Ronon."

"I'll take him out." She wipes her paint-covered hands on his jacket. "Now give me your extra ammo."

Lorne hands over his paintballs, helping her to secure them. "Good luck, Elizabeth," he wishes her as the transporter doors slide open to reveal the corridor leading to the jumper bay. She offers him a teasing salute before skulking off down the hall, and Lorne punches in his destination on the map. He'll go to the control tower and monitor the rest of the paintball war with everyone else who's out. If nothing else, he can't wait to see Elizabeth take on Ronon.

_\--end--_


End file.
